


somewhere gladly beyond

by leiaorganaa



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 11:58:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3767311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiaorganaa/pseuds/leiaorganaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He cards a hand through her hair. He should leave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	somewhere gladly beyond

It's not _that_ bad. He's had worse head injuries, he thinks, back when he had to drag himself home, down a handful of painkillers, and pass out in bed for the weekend. It was easier to let Foggy think what he wanted and come in smiling through the aches Monday morning. He can deal with this.

Matt sits up, and promptly goes back down again as the world spins out of balance. Alright. Maybe it's a little worse. Everything is flickering in and out like a bad radio signal. The journey to Claire's apartment is fuzzy. There was the asshole with the pipe, and then he was staggering through alleys with an aching head and blood dripping down his neck. Someone always brings a pipe to a brawl, and he was just a little too slow this time to miss it connecting with the back of his head. 

He shifts, groaning, and manages to haul himself up on the doorknob. It wiggles ominously from the weight, so he shifts and slaps his palm against the door. The buzz of the fluorescents isn't helping his head.

Claire gets there quickly. He can hear her nervous, but always steady heartbeat. “Jesus, Matt,” she hisses when she wrenches it open, looking left and right. “Are you okay? Did anyone see you?”

To his credit, Matt manages not to fall on her. “Only – mm – an older woman in the hallway,” he grits out as she helps him inside and to the couch. “She said “El diablo!” and cackled all the way to the elevator.”

Her laugh is like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “I think you're good.”

He takes the cowl off and leans his head back, breathing harder than he'd like. She starts to prod at him. He knows there are no obvious injuries besides the usual cuts and bruises, but words sit heavy on his tongue. He has to push them out.

“Concussion, and some bleeding.” he says. “Sorry I didn't call. I would have gone home, but, uh...” Nausea hits him like a brick. (He should know, he's been on the receiving end of a brick before.) He doubles over and Claire's hands squeeze his shoulders before drawing back.

“Okay, Matt. Hold on.”

Every time she says his name, he feels a tug somewhere under his left rib. It's the closest thing to holiness in a life of pretend and bloody knuckles.

The night goes hazy, but after water, gauze, and a handful of pills, better. Somewhere, he gets out of his costume and somewhere, she brings him a big t-shirt with a few holes in it. It smells like oak and dryer sheets. Somewhere, as he starts to drift, she sits beside him.

“Go to sleep, Daredevil,” Claire says, elbowing him softly on an unbruised rib. “I've kept you alive for this long.”

Matt closes his eyes and the city laps at the edges of his senses. Her presence keeps it at bay. He wonders if she knows that she draws him in like a flame.

He starts when her fingers press to his temple. “Stop _thinking_ so much. Damn. Your nurse commands it.”

A smile quirks at corners of his mouth. “Sir, yes sir.”

“Don't get smart with me. We'll see how many pushups you can really do.” Fatigue colors the laugh. He hears the slight press of a phone keyboard.

“What are you doing?”

“Setting an alarm. I'm not staying awake staring at your face for hours after a double shift, nice as that face might be.”

He laughs, and feeling daring, curls his fingers around hers and squeezes. “Claire.”

“Don't even say it. No thank yous till morning.”

“Alright. If the nurse commands it.”

 

 

 

Hazy. As night bleeds into morning, Matt comes in and out to a gentle alarm and Claire's face close to his. It blends with his dreams. When he wakes on his own, to the gentle patter of rain, he touches the corners of his eyes to find moisture there. They are curled up together, by the heat seeking intimacy of sleep.

He should leave. He shifts. Her heartbeat quickens and she moves against him, a sigh trailing over his skin.

“You made it,” she says softly, sleep-worn and quiet.

“It's the Murdock skull.” He should leave. Claire swallows like she's about to say something, then rests her chin on his shoulder. There is only her. The rain closes over the rest of the world like a second skin.

He cards a hand through her hair. He should leave.

“Mmm, you don't want to do that,” she mumbles. He can feel her grin through his shirt. “I haven't showered since yesterday morning.”

“I sweat into the suit all night. And – got blood on your couch.”

“That's old news,” she snorts. Matt goes through her hair again and she sighs. It's a happy sigh. Involuntary, drawn out through his fingertips.

“What happened to 'no other stuff'?” he says, carefully. Her face turns towards his, and anyone could feel the searching intensity of her gaze.

“I changed my mind.”

For a moment, they breathe in perfect unison. Claire cups his face in her hands and he holds her head in his and they are wrapped up in each other as if it was always meant to be. Their lips barely brush, but it sets his nerve endings alight and he closes his eyes in desperation for how much he wants her.

She moves into his lap and kisses him deeply, hooking an arm around his neck.“Claire,” he says between kisses, feeling her heart speed up as he moves his mouth to her neck. He hums against it when she swallows down a gasp, fisting her hand into his shirt.

“Cheater,” she says against his ear, voice low. “Now you have to take this off.”

The shirt comes off at a speed that surprises even him. She drags her hands down his back and he shudders a little at each pressed bruise. They kiss again, hot and sweet but never urgent. He wants to remember how she feels. He wants to learn every sigh that makes her up. Each moment is a bright spark dancing on his skin.

“Can I,” Claire asks.

“God, anything,” he groans, brushing a thumb over her lips. Her teeth graze the skin. She takes his hand and guides it down, under her sweatpants, where she radiates heat. Matt leans her back and rubs the pads of his fingers in slow, lazy circles. She breathes out, long and controlled, but her heart thrums in his ears like a song.

He tugs her sweatpants down and shifts so he is kneeling above her, then brings his mouth to the damp cotton of her underwear. She grabs a handful of his hair and pushes gently, gasping. “I want your mouth,” she says. “Just-”

He mouths over a hipbone, and peels the elastic band from her waist. She raises her hips when the cool air hits her, and he kisses her swiftly between the legs.

“Ahh, god,” she moans.

He spreads her open with the wet press of his tongue. Claire slaps her free hand down on the couch and now the rhythm comes. She grinds into his mouth while he licks and sucks, and each sound she makes is better than every dream he's every had. (He won't wake up from this hard, alone, and guilty.)

He can feel her orgasm building in her breathing and the flush of her skin so he adds his thumb, pressing hard into her clit with each twist of her hips. She cries wordlessly when she comes, and he rides it with her until her body relaxes, panting and boneless.

He presses a kiss on the inside of each thigh, a promise and a prayer, then wipes his slick, wet mouth with the back of his hand.

“I might have to keep you around,” Claire breathes, wry but soft. Matt presses his lips to hers and his chest blooms with things he can't quite say. Things he is brimming with. She brings their foreheads together as if she understands.

**Author's Note:**

> do i know how to write porn? no clue. did i? looks like it. am i ridiculously far gone for these two and holding onto all hope until i'm crushed by the inevitable? absolutely!


End file.
